It's a big welcoming committee of small inhabitants. Those who can talk introduce themselves, but since I have no idea how to spell their names, I ask the eldest of three children at the doorway to write them in my notebook. He's 10, and his name sounds like Ocean, but it's Oisean. "It means 'little deer,'" he explains. Uma is eight, there is toddler Gaelan, and a sheepdog (jumping for joy at our arrival and continually escaping banishment to the hall) called Skye. The cats, Fang and Oscarito, peer at us through a window.

Then Dad appears. Seori (pronounced "Shoory") grabs our bags and leads us down a narrow hallway. We're in the byre, added later to the 120-year-old croft and now housing up to four guests in an almost self-contained unit.

Ooh, it's a G-plan cave, a cool blend of rough whitewashed stone and glass. Beside a Norwegian Jotul woodburner are baskets of peat and logs. A Vitra chair by Mario Bellini is covered by a sheepskin throw and sits invitingly beside shelves bearing Scottish titles.

Above the double futon bed is a bed platform, the steps a series of giant holes cut into a thick wooden screen. My good deed is volunteering to sleep aloft (thus ensuring entertainment later, when the only way I can ascend without the "steps" cutting into my feet is by donning wedge heels).

Back in the kitchen, we chat and play Corgi car crashes around mugs of tea and coconut macaroons - specially made for my gluten-free friend.

Architect and musician Seori and his wife Pauline, a former editor, have returned to Scotland from south London and are committed to a more sustainable life here. Water comes from a burn, fruit and vegetables are homegrown and they cut their own peat. In summer there is mackerel from the loch, and "brilliant mussel beds - we go about once a month," says Seori.

"Our Gloucester old spot pigs are all in the freezer now," says Pauline, back from work and now making dinner.

"What's the population of Badrallach?" I ask between mouthfuls of soup (pea, mint and their own ham). "There are 12 residents," explains Pauline "and you're looking at five of them." Last winter some guests were snowed in for three nights, she tells us. Lucky them, we think, tackling quinoa tabbouleh (no wheat, clever) and a roasted vegetable dish called turlu turlu from the Moro Cookbook, then mini pavlovas with rhubarb fool. Warmed by an Aga and sitting amid all this human (and occasionally canine) life heightens our sense of the enveloping nothingness outside.

At breakfast there is an ever changing view through a tiny kitchen window. Songbirds flutter at fronds of spring foliage, fat chickens suddenly hop into frame on the sill, replaced moments later by Fang and Oscarito. There is plenty of rain, but no snow, and the wilderness is waiting.

Best for: Sociable types into walking.Cost: B&B, £30pp, children half-price. Dinner, £25 per head, BYO wine. Pick-ups from Garve railway station or Inverness. Picnics and day trips arranged - enquire about charges. For more information on Scotland: 0845 22 55 121, visitscotland.com/perfectday.